Chapter 20 — Seedtime at Dawn’s Edge

Early spring light melted the last shards of ice along the river, and Moonfang hummed with planting fever. In the south meadow, rows of ploughs waited like loyal wolves while villagers sang over seed sacks. It was the first Joint Sowing Day—Ironclaw farmers had hauled carts of frost-tolerant rye; Moonfang gifted hardy seedlings from its sheltered cliff gardens. Beneath a sky rinsed clean of winter, two packs prepared to stitch their future into the same furrow.

Ophelia stood in the middle of it all, cloak pinned back, boots caked with thaw-mud. A clipboard still dangled from one hand, but she laughed when Maeve snatched it away.

“Enough counting,” Maeve scolded. “Touch the earth, Envoy.”

Ophelia knelt, pressing palm to damp soil that smelled of promise. Ash flopped beside her, rolling until he looked more dirt than dog. Pups shrieked with delight.

*We made it,* she thought. *From poisoned arrows to planting rye.*

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#### Rumors on the Wind